Sorting Out Amy
by GhibliGirl91
Summary: Just after the snog in Amy's bedroom, she's wondering what the hell she was doing. And even worse, why? Now she's stuck thinking about guilt, Virginia Woolf, duck ponds, Rory, headlines and voyeuristic blue boxes. Oh and braces, a lot about braces.


**Doctor Who officially rules! Hurrah for something from a UK fandom. Not Japanese, not American, British! I've been meaning to do something from a BBC show for ages, Torchwood, Merlin. Does Jane and the Dragon count? Or do we put that with Canada?**

**This was such an 'inspiration strikes, ohmiGod must write must write must write' moment, that I skipped out on watching a George Clooney film with my mum. Besides this last episode absolutely ruled!! It just makes me laugh so much I had to write something for it.**

**So this is my attempt at comedy (and being British-bare in mind most of it is rather sarcastic) I hope you like it.**

**I don't own Doctor Who (although my plans to kidnap Matt Smith and keep him in my attic are coming along quite nicely so maybe soon...)**

Sorting Out Amy

Oh it was awkward. Awkward, awkward, awkward.

I mean, once I had realised that he wasn't intending to do...what I had wanted to do...and was instead putting his entire attention into flying the TARDIS I knew that things were going wrong. This was _so_ not what I had planned! What I had planned of course had been involving the twanging of braces (I really liked the way they twanged), the untying of bow-ties, sweat; lots of it, and knowing that it would be tough for anyone to get into my room because that big blue box was in the way (but also being kind of freaked out about it because you almost end up imagining it's looking at you, kind of like an ex-girlfriend, but not. Maybe more like a sister, or an aunt, an aunt that is supposed to chaperone you and knows fully when you are doing something you shouldn't be. Oh bloody hell; I'm even starting to sound like him!) So once he was staring really hard at the inside of the voyeuristic blue box and not at me, I knew that things were going really, really wrong. Like painfully wrong. Deadly wrong!

Although...well c'mon! It's not like I wanted to marry him instead! I said as much. One fling. One night. Then I would go off and marry Rory and...marry Rory and...

Bloody bloody hell!

What was wrong with him anyway? And what was wrong with his nose? Flaming cheek. I saw that little gesture he made when trying to describe him. Urgh, he was probably imagining a brood of beaky ginger kids when he did that. I saw the look on his face. The one that was saying "Really?" And he followed it with that glimmer in his eye that said he was wondering why I was marrying Rory of all people, and of course now I'm wondering why I _am_ marrying Rory, especially when I was twanging at a different set of braces just three minutes ago. Not that Rory wears braces. Hospital scrubs mostly, I was being metaphorical.

Am I settling?

I said I was thinking about who I want, but sleeping with someone else, that's not thinking about it. That's the easy way out. It wasn't really fair on Rory, sleeping with another bloke, and lets face it, sleeping with an alien. That was a slap in the face. Sleeping with a nine-hundred-and-seven year old alien who is...forty-five times your age (check the mental maths!) well that's a slap in the face, a punch in the gut and a kick in the...

Anyway.

But he was my Doctor. My raggedy Doctor. The one I made Rory dress up as when we were nine.

He has always been competing with him really. Always trying to live up to him. Because he's fancied me since we were in school. Even when I was still biting the psychologists, and when I went out with that thick git Dan Jones, and that geek Ronnie Toad (unfortunate name but he was kind of sweet), even when I was with the gorgeous Devon who dumped me when he found out about all the shrinks and the attempts they made at therapy and I was in this horrible teary mess for ages and nearly lost the will to live (well I was sixteen). Then it was Rory bringing my cups of tea and telling me it would be okay. And now I feel so guilty I feel I could just fling myself Virgina-Woolf-like into the nearest water source and drown, which from here I think would be the town square duck pond. Not very glamorous an end considering how close I've come to death in the last week. Can you call it a week if you've travelled through time? Fine, considering how many ways and times I have nearly died in the last five minutes then, it wouldn't be the most glamorous way to go. I can see the headlines;

'Young Amelia Pond In The Prime Of Life, Guilty And Jilted, Drowns Herself In Home Town Duck-Pond!'

Well maybe not that long, they don't have that much space, do they? It's supposed to be snappy.

'Amelia Pond Twenty-Something Jilted And Guilty, Drowns Self In Local Duck-Pond'

Twenty-something? Come on Amy no time for vanity. And it's still too long.

'Guilt-Stricken Amelia Pond, Drowns-self in Duck-Pond'

Maybe its a bit much to hope they would put it on the cover. Nah, they wouldn't especially now that banner sounds like a poem. Maybe they would call it 'Pond's Pond' Haha. Oh bloody hell I am so self-involved, here I am planning my obituary; what was I talking about? Oh right, Rory.

Well while after I broke up with Devon (idiot) and at that time also planning to load my pockets with stones and take a paddle, it was Rory who agreed to watch those weepy films with me, and eat fudge and listen to me bitch about Devon (idiot).

I look back now and I am embarrassed by how I acted. I had already decided that I wasn't going to be the clingy, needy type, I had already had enough people leave me to ever get too tied up in my feelings, but sometimes you really can't help it. And that's what happens when you sleep with a guy.

Yeah, alright, I slept with Devon (idiot). But he was gorgeous, and I just figured, hey gets it out of the way. Although, if I had thought that things would turn out the way they did and _someone_ would be coming back then would I have done it at all?

Damn these questions. If only there was someone who could answer. Apart from me, obviously.

Would I have chosen to have sex for the first time around the back of the school bike sheds? Oh God, I'M SUCH A CLICHÉ!

Well truly, I thought I wasn't being one by deciding not to 'save myself' and all that rubbish. But it wasn't rubbish and then I decided to get all honest and he dumped me! The bloody bastard dumped me! He always was a git.

And the sex was crap.

But the point is that it was Rory who was doing all these break-up things with me when you would expect it to be a girl-friend (except I didn't have any thanks to the 'crazy Amy crazy Amy' taunts followed by me punching their lights out). But would I have saved it for Rory if I had known what Devon was going to do to me, or would I have saved it for the one person who I knew I could have handed it over too whole heartedly?

Urgh. My head.

But it's all moot, because despite all this quasi-phylisophical musing, the fact remains that all through the twanging of those divine braces, the Doctor was telling me quite plainly that it would not work.

Repeatedly squirming out of my grasp telling me his age while I threw myself at him, trying to make me listen when he said I was human and there was no relationship for us.

Wait.

He said 'work'.

He said that it would not work.

That does not mean that it will not happen.

Yes!

And it was undeniable that for a second he definitely kissed me back. Maybe even two seconds. I remember now. When I managed to press his skinny body up against the TARDIS, and he was only partly trying to push me off, he really was kissing me back. And boy did it feel good. He has a really nice mouth. Now if only he would talk less with it and spend more time with it on mine.

Oh wait, he actually said something just now, but I missed it because I was carrying on with this little mental tirade. I look up and he's staring at me expectantly, he's making that face where I know it's a simple question. He's curling his lips over and biting them like an old-house-wife chomping on her gums, and those stupid big eyes are asking me if I'm considering my answer or if I'm just a little slow. Damn eyes, damn lovely lips. Soft lips. And he's just the right height for kissing too.

Thrice times bloody hell!

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, Amelia," he started slowly in the voice he uses when he thinks he's talking to someone with the mental age of a small child, "where exactly would Rory be on this fine night?"

"I dunno, at his Stag-do?"

"Ooh bit risky, hungover on the wedding day, anyway!"

He yanked on a leaver. The TARDIS began that wailing scraping noise (breaks still on then) and began to shake. I noticed he had gone back to staring at bits of the gears and cogs. Wait, we were picking up Rory? Oh no. Oh no this is not happening. He is not doing this! He is not! That stupid, stupid, girly haired, skinny, bloody-brace-wearing, soft lipped...

Oh this is not over. This is _so_ not over. You better tighten your seatbelt Doctor, because weeping angels have nothing, _nothing_ on Amy Pond.

Though maybe I'll let you keep your mouth, just for fun.

**A/N There you have it. I hope you enjoyed it.**

**Here's a bit of useless trivia; Matt Smith did Creative Writing at university. At least according to my mum he did, I'm too lazy to confirm my sources.**

**Review please. I want to know what you think of this. Hey maybe it will be the starting point for more Doctor/Amy fics.**

**I think she's one of my favorite companions so far.**


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